


The Lost Ark

by The_Carnivorous_Muffin



Series: Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus [36]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Demon Summoning, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-07-01 07:03:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15769026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Carnivorous_Muffin/pseuds/The_Carnivorous_Muffin
Summary: An ambitious and fanciful Gellert Grindelwald summons the creator of the hallows, namely Death itself, his expectations go off the rails when he ends up with a bizarre little girl instead.





	The Lost Ark

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory note of NOT CANON

Gellert Grindelwald once had a very bizarre conversation with Death.

 

He didn’t talk about it very often.

 

* * *

 

 

Albus had always been the skeptic, never Gellert, but then that was why they had worked so well in that single year they’d had together. Gellert would dream and Albus would think, Gellert would lead, and Albus would tie the plan together in all of the knots needed.

 

Gellert told Albus a story about three brothers, a bridge, and death, and it was Albus who put it into terms that a modern wizard might understand.

 

“Of course, it’s all metaphorical.” Albus had said, running a hand through copper hair, blue eyes looking to Gellert for reassurance that he was allowed to be rational for a moment, “Most likely the Peverell brothers were simply quite talented and because of that talent they… met more or less unfortunate ends. These hallows might exist but I rather doubt that death himself handed them to the Peverells for crossing a river. It’s… It’s pure fantasy.”

 

Gellert had nodded at the time, reassured Albus that he was very clever for having put this into reasonable, realistic, terms and watched as Albus flushed under the praise and smiled shyly back at him but a part of him had held on to that story beyond the clues it left behind.

 

And when, in the summer of 1899, at the turn of the century when he fled from Godric’s Hollow and was once again alone, friendless, and facing the forbidding future he thought back to that old tale.

 

And when he stole the wand from the wand maker Gregoravitch, disappearing out of the window and into the night, the story played itself over and over inside of his head.

 

About three brothers, a bridge, and death itself consenting to grant them a wish.

 

Albus was the skeptic, he was the one to ask where, how, why, and to deny possibility. Gellert was the one who dreamed, who insisted that things could and would change, that he and Albus could reshape the world so that what had happened to little Arianna would never happen again and so that things might take their natural course. Where wizards didn’t hide from the muggles but instead where everyone knew and understood their place in the world.

 

The statute of secrecy was relatively new, only a few centuries old, and when you thought about it like that… Why, it wasn’t that radical at all.

 

Regardless, it was always Gellert who was willing to believe what no one else would dare to. That perhaps the story wasn’t quite the metaphor it was thought as, that perhaps the three brothers hadn’t crafted the hallows themselves, and that perhaps they truly had met death that day and that by gathering all the hallows they might become his master.

 

And Gellert, alone and scheming in Europe, sitting in bars, whispering in the ear of pretty young heiresses and handsome young men, would hear the strangest tales and he would always half believe them.

 

Such as the tale of Nicolas Flamel and the philosopher’s stone and how he never made it in the first place.

 

* * *

 

 

Dull brown eyes, a rosy but charmingly handsome disposition, speech slurred from the drink and flushing from both the alcohol and Gellert’s attention. A weak, fluttering, smile, one that almost painfully reminded Gellert of Albus.

 

Poor Albus, he’d been afraid to live, and now he always would be.

 

As for this man, the one Gellert was sitting with tonight, he wasn’t bad but he wasn’t particularly interesting either. The young man seemed to know it though, and so, several drinks in he started talking about his elaborate family history hoping something might catch Gellert’s attention.

 

And, strangely enough, something did.

 

“This story’s been passed down my family for generations, you see, one of my ancestors was an alchemist, a good one too… He started the family grimoire, nine-hundred years ago, and in it he talked about Flamel and the stone.” The young man paused, took a drink, another awkward smile.

 

“What does he say about Flamel?” Gellert asked, genuinely interested, he’d never had more than a passing curiousity in the stone (alchemy wasn’t his field and that was a thousand years old news) but that name Flamel had a certain ring of fame to it that Gellert couldn’t simply ignore.

 

“Said he was a fake.”

 

“Really?” Gellert responded, raised eyebrows, because after centuries of longevity and wealth that was something you didn’t hear about Flamel.

 

“Went on this whole rant about how he couldn’t have done it, how he was a fake, how Flamel had given up on the stone years ago. They all had, nobody was getting results until…”

 

“Until?”

 

“Until out of nowhere Flamel’s suddenly got it and won’t tell anybody how.”

 

And Gellert could picture it so easily, in his mind’s eye Nicolas Flamel was transformed into Albus, Albus with his miraculous invention, triumph in his expression, but a cloud of doubt keeping those eyes from twinkling back at him and his hands nervously clenching his wand. Albus, alone, surrounded by vultures ready to eat his liver out of his living body.

 

“Now, this is where it gets interesting.” The man leaned in, smiled, teeth white in the candle light, “My ancestor wrote that Flamel hadn’t been working on alchemy for years but that it’d been rumored that he was working on something called summoning.”

 

“You mean conjuring.” Gellert corrected but the man shook his head, excited, his flat eyes suddenly sparking with his thoughts.

 

“No, I mean… summoning. It was a very niche art, fairly dark, and it died out quickly. Flamel, apparently, believed that there are these great forces that exist beyond magic that control the way magic works. Things like time, life, death, love, light, matter… Everything that we see, perceive, everything that makes up the world. And Flamel thought that magic itself was a sort of manifestation of these greater forces and so, by gathering large quantities of magic, shaping and directing it, you could summon these forces into the physical realm.”

 

Gellert didn’t say anything, but the man stopped, flushed, and made elaborate excuses for himself, “Of course, it was all really ridiculous and no one believed that sort of thing. It was why it died out and no one’s ever heard of it. I mean… really, even at the time people thought Flamel was crazy for looking into this stuff… But, my ancestor, theorized that if Flamel had succeeded it wasn’t in creating the stone but instead he had summoned something, death itself, to grant him immunity from his touch and infinite wealth.”

 

The man smiles, a charming if simple expression, “Silly, right?”

 

* * *

 

 

But Gellert was a dreamer and a believer of old, dangerous, and half-forgotten tales.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a new century, the dawning of a new age, in the heart of Paris’ magical district that he made good on the tale of three brothers and summoned death for himself.

 

It was, perhaps, needlessly overdramatic and romanticized. There were ancient runes painted on the floor, incense and dozens of candles burning in the dark room, and over an hour of latin chanting that would come off to the uninformed as religious. But, then again, Gellert had always had a weakness for theatrics and spectacle.

 

Which was why he performed the ritual at midnight, on the night of a new moon, at the end of the year 1900.

 

And the figure that appeared in the center of the ruinic circle, fading into existence somehow as if it was always there but only now gained tangibility, was not at all what he expected.

 

A small figure, dressed in obnoxiously bright colors, pale, barefoot, hair a brighter fuller red than Albus’, flying out in wild curls, and her eyes a luminescent green like the light of the killing curse.

 

And her first words, derisive and exasperated as she looked at him, “Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me.”

 

* * *

 

“I don’t appreciate this.”

 

The girl was seated on the floor, poking at his runes with a petulant look, while Gellert had conjured a chair and just stared at her waiting for her to either conform to his expectations or else for something to happen.

 

In the tales those who summoned great beings of power carelessly were almost always punished for it, the height of hubris, and Gellert made it an art form to dance on the edge of destruction.

 

That, he felt, was when you truly knew you were alive. Of course, it was what had gotten him expelled from Durmstang, thrown out of Godric’s Hollow, but then at least he knew he was alive.

 

However, this… He just couldn’t bring himself to fear his imminent demise from an adolescent school girl.

 

“And you’re sure that you’re death?” Gellert asked, not for the first time, and judging by her expression she didn’t appreciate that either.

 

“Do you know any other deaths?” She asked, eyebrows raised mockingly, before continuing on with her own tirade, “Besides, did it ever occur to you that I might be busy doing things? That maybe, just maybe, I could have been doing something really important.”

 

“Were you?”

 

She blinked, considered it, and honestly conceded, “Well, no, not particularly. I mean, there is this giant snake on the loose and there’s the ever present threat of Rabbit devouring countries… But none of that is the point! The point is that it’s very inconsiderate to Gregorian chant someone into your basement without asking them first!”

 

For a moment he simply stared at her, wondered if he had somehow made some sort of a mistake and summoned… something else, and if this really was death then what on earth was he supposed to do now? He considered floundering, well not considered he was floundering, generally thrown off by this whole thing.

 

But then, that was his greatest strength, his charm and improvisation. His ability to simply take everything and anything in stride and move forward with it. People liked Gellert and Gellert, for the most part, liked people and so in general when he made an effort to get along with them things tended to work out.

 

So instead of nodding dumbly he offered her a charming smile and said, “Well, then, I’ll be sure to ask you first next time.”

 

She stared at him for a few moments, those eyes somehow terribly blank, and then asked, “…How do you have such perfect teeth?”

 

Of all the things anyone had ever said about his appearance no one had asked him that before. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to respond, “Well, I suppose I was just blessed by the gods with a beautiful disposition, including perfect teeth.”

 

“You look like you should be selling toothpaste or shampoo to middle aged women who watch far too much daytime television.” The girl responded blandly, which, well, Gellert had never been told that before either.

 

He also had no idea what daytime television was.

 

“Hm, well, I always just considered myself dashingly handsome.”

 

The girl nodded sagely, “You probably could pass for a charming prince on a noble steed if you really wanted to. Provided you can find an equally aesthetically pleasing horse.”

 

Then at once, something in her expression shifted, and at once became older and twice as dangerous for it, “By the way, I still don’t appreciate any of this.”

 

“Oh?” He asked, finger his wand with a forced casualness, wondering if the deathly hallow will have an effect against its own creator.

 

“What exactly is it that you want Death for? I don’t see a cult, so I suppose that’s a point in your favor, but you also are a little too aware of how charmingly handsome you are to do something like this without motivation.” And suddenly she was standing, leaning over him, eyes staring directly into his. And looking into them it was as if her pupils were a great abyss, the heavens without light, stretching on for cold infinite eternity and returning nothing that they took.

 

“Must I have motivation?”

 

“Yes, you must.”

 

For a moment he let her stare, lean in too close, let her take on that persona of death that he’d thought so ill-fitting when he’d first summoned her. Then, with a smile, “Perhaps, after collecting one of his hallows, I simply wanted to see the face of death for myself.”

 

She stepped away, looking visibly unimpressed and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts, and said, “For someone playing at being Indiana Jones you look a bit pretty for the role.”

 

“Playing at…”

 

“Collecting ancient mystical artifacts with connections to higher powers. Well… Except for the Temple of Doom, but no one really liked that one anyways.” She not-explained rather shortly, before sighing and conjuring an apple into existence, and then began to chew on it and swallow all beneath his gaze.

 

“Of course, if you remember from Raiders of the Lost Ark, things rarely go well for those who meddle with things beyond their control. It tends to… obliterate them I suppose is the word.” She added between bites, as if this was all par for the course, and of course he understood everything she was saying and not trying to discern whether the apple was for show because that was a law you didn’t simply break.

 

And Gellert felt what little confidence and control he had over the situation slipping away, “That’s…. That’s not really an apple.”

 

She considered it, turned it back and forth under her gaze, and finally a bright spark appeared in her eyes and she responded, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe? I think the idea is that if enough people believe it’s an apple then it might as well be one, although that’s really some fuzzy universe falling apart logic right there. Personally, I think things are what they are and will be what they will be.”

 

“No, I mean, you cannot create food. It’s Gamp’s law.” He said and she considered the apple again, looked at him with raised eyebrows, and took a bite.

 

“You know, you aren’t the first person to tell me that. Apparently, this is quite an alarming talent.” This time with a look of concentration she conjured a tea set into existence and poured herself a cup, “By the way, I never did get your name out of all of this.”

 

“Oh, of course, I am Gellert Grindelwald.”

 

She stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, as if trying to recognize him from somewhere and then seemed to remember him, “Holy shit, aren’t you super old and dying in Nazi wizard prison?”

 

“I… No…”

 

She brightened, a grin growing, and pointed, “No, I know this, you’ve been rotting in wizard prison for fifty years! Or Grindelwald has, and I could have sworn he was much older and more jaundiced looking than you are, you could probably pull off Gilderoy Lockhart if you tried...”

 

“Alas, while I do not know this Gilderoy Lockhart I can assure you that I am the one and only Gellert Grindelwald.” He said but she still seemed dubious, looking at him with raised eyebrows, her eyes roved over the room and her clothing.

 

Finally, she asked, “What year is this?”

 

“1900.” He replied calmly, apparently this was the wrong answer, by the expression on her face.

 

“And you know, no one ever believes me when I tell them the universe is falling apart, even when things like this happen.” She said and then her eyebrows lowered, “It’s as if everyone expects there to be a perfectly reasonable explanation to be summoned as death by Gellert Grindewald ninety years ago.”

 

It took an overwhelming amount of effort for him to admit in clear words, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

 

“Really?” She looked at him, looking positively delighted, “I think you’re the first person to agree with me about this.”

 

“About what?”

 

She motioned to the room as if it was evidence, “Well, that the universe is slowly but surely collapsing in on itself.”

 

He stared at her for a moment, looked back to the room, and then said, “I don’t believe that.”

 

“You just summoned death and you were successful. Does that promote feelings of confidence in the stability of the universe, Mr. Grindelwald?”

 

He honestly hadn’t thought of it like that, not at the time, of course he hadn’t expected this either, “Well, if I’m being honest, I am a bit surprised at your appearance. I had expected someone taller and perhaps a tad more masculine.”

 

The apple disappeared from her hand and she considered him, truly considered him in a way that she hadn’t before, not as an annoyance or an anomaly but as a complicated machine whose workings she could not divine from a simple glance.

 

“Did you expect a man with hair like raven’s feathers and eyes that have seen empires crumble in a handful of dust?” She asked and he didn’t respond because those images hadn’t really come to mind but they weren’t something he’d have been surprised at either.

 

For a moment it looked as if she’d say something, as if she’d answer why she was a little girl instead of this dark haired man she’d described, but instead she said, “You’re going to lose, you know.”

 

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

 

“Your crusade. Following in the footsteps of the muggle invasions gets you far, but not far enough.” She cocked her head to the side, still staring at him, trying to put the pieces together, “Like the Nazis you’ll fail to make it to Britain, through Russia, and on the battlefield against Albus Dumbledore you will lose. And then you’ll rot, inside of a prison you made for yourself, for fifty years.”

 

“I haven’t told you of my crusades.” He said, calmly, more calm than he felt because those eyes were looking through him and seeing everything. Everything he was, he had been, and he would be and she was smiling bitterly as if she found it morbidly amusing.

 

“I’m from the future, Mr. Grindelwald, you’re in my textbooks.” She stopped considering him for a moment, looked away, and said, “I just thought you should know, since you went out of your way to summon me to the turn of the century.”

 

And it was around that time that Gellert just decided that he was done with this conversation, that he was moving on, that this was a bizarre incident in his life that no one needed to hear about. Perhaps summoning death had been a little too ambitious, or if not ambitious, then something he didn’t need to invest in.

Because he didn’t need to invest in this bizarre little girl who was prophesizing his doom at the hands of Albus.

 

Albus.

 

“I think it would be best if you went… home.” He finally said, not entirely sure what home would be for something like her.

 

“… I feel like I should be offended by that.” The girl said slowly, once again looking somewhat incredulous as she tried to puzzle out her own feelings, “And yet, I think that would be best for both of us… I did mention there was a giant snake, right. And of course, the ineffable abomination that is Rabbit.”

 

“Yes, those are all very important things that you should attend to, elsewhere.”

 

“Right.”

 

They stared at each other, each waiting for the other to say something else, to add to the conversation but there was only the silence.

 

“Well then, great to meet you Wizard Hitler. I’m glad we had this incredibly awkward conversation and or grand misunderstanding.” She stood, shook his hand, all remnants of apples and tea disappearing.

 

“Yes, it has been… the opposite of enlightening.” He smiled charmingly at her and she smiled charmingly back.

 

And when she’d disappeared, as if she’d never been there in the first place, Gellert Grindelwald decided to get outrageously drunk.

 

And he did, and it was great, and he vowed that this was an episode in his life that he just wouldn’t bother to tell anyone.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, losing to Albus in 1945, both of them considerably older and changed, it took all the effort he had not to picture her looming over him and descending into unholy mad laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> I think someone asked for something involving Grindelwald summoning Lily and ending up with high-larious results. So we get this.
> 
> Thanks for reading, comments, kudos, and bookmarks are appreciated.


End file.
